Fire, Blood and Growth

Chapter 23 –

It all happened too suddenly.

He should have left with the princess and her children the very moment the Spider's letter had arrived. He should have left the moment he had come to know of the Prince's demise at the hands of the Seven damned Starks.

If he had, Princess Elia would still be alive. 

But he hadn't.

He had instead given the princess a day to say farewell to the home that would soon be far behind her, once the King secured her and her children at King's Landing. It was to be a day of quiet remembrance, a final pilgrimage to Dragonstone, a place of beauty and solace amidst the gathering storm of war.

Instead, it had become a day of fire and blood. 

Slavers, disguised as merchants from Lys, had launched a sudden and brutal attack on the fishing village. Their torches had set the docks ablaze, turning the harbor into an inferno.

Among the princess's party was the novice Septa, Pia, a young woman who had become something of a handmaiden to Prince Viserys. The young prince himself, however, had remained behind at the castle at Dragonstone, feeling the need to be by his mother, Queen Rhaella's side so late into her pregnancy.

She had been the first to spot them, trying desperately to keep little Prince Aegon who had been secured in her arms safe from the ambush.

Prince Lewyn Martell, a valiant knight of the Kingsguard, had fought like a lion, his spear flashing in the dying light. He had managed to secure the escape of little Princess Rhaenys, sending her galloping back to the castle with a trusted rider. But his heroism had come at a terrible price.

The Princess Elia had perished amidst the flames, her lifeblood spilling onto the cobblestones as she fought to shield her infant son from the slavers' grasping hands. Prince Lewyn had fallen beside her, his body riddled with wounds.

The slavers had captured many of the villagers, women and children dragged away screaming.

And little Prince Aegon, barely a year old, had vanished into the smoke and shadows, alongside the little septa who tried in vain to protect the innocent babe. Both, in the end, were carried off by the slavers.

The fishing village now lay in ruins.

Jon Connington stood on the deck of the Sea Dragon, the wind whipping at his cloak as he gazed out at the darkening horizon. 

Beside him stood Laenor Waters, the captain of the ship and a man Jon did not entirely trust. Waters had returned from the North claiming to have journeyed to Skaagos, yet before his departure he had been seen with Prince Rhaegar feasting at Driftmark. 

The Sea Dragon, the Barrow captained by Ser Willem Darry, and the Swiftwing under the command of Omer Blackberry, were all that remained of the royal fleet after the slavers' attack. 

They were swift vessels, some of the fastest in the realm's Royal Fleet, and they had given chase through the broiling storm that had arisen in the Narrow Sea.

They were almost to Essos, somewhere near the coast of Pentos.

As the waves crashed against the hull, Jon's mind raced. 

He could not shake the image of Princess Elia's lifeless body, nor the cries of the villagers as they were dragged away. He had been one of the first to rouse the Garrison after the rider had returned to the castle with Princess Rhaenys.

The Spider's missive had warned of a Stark plot to kidnap the royal children, he should have departed then, but Jon had hesitated, consumed by grief and anger over Rhaegar's death. Now, the consequences of his inaction were laid bare.

But he would not fail again. 

Of the five slaver ships that had once swarmed the harbor, three now drifted aimlessly, their sails ablaze like funeral pyres. Jon felt a grim satisfaction at the sight, but it was fleeting.

"The Swiftwing is moving to board, my lord," Laenor Waters reported, his voice barely audible above the crashing waves. "Blackberry will rescue the captives on board."

Jon nodded, his gaze fixed on the remaining two slaver ships. "May he find the prince among them."

A vicious cheer erupted from the Swiftwing as Blackberry's men swarmed onto the first disabled ship, their swords flashing in the firelight. Jon watched as the slavers were cut down, a small measure of vengeance for the innocents they had stolen.

His attention snapped back to the battle at hand as a volley of flaming arrows arced from the Barrow, finding their mark on the deck of the next slaver ship. The pirates scrambled to douse the flames, but the distraction gave Willem Darry the opening he needed.

"Loose the sail!" Laenor Waters barked, his command echoing across the deck of the Sea Dragon. "Oarsmen, give me speed!"

The ship surged forward, its battering ram aimed at the starboard quarter of the last remaining slaver vessel. The air crackled with tension as the thunder rumbled again, closer now, a warning growl from the heavens.

"Archers, knock!" Laenor commanded, his voice rising above the storm. "Aim for the sails! Fire!"

The flaming arrows flew as the Sea Dragon gathered momentum. The slavers turned to meet the threat, their eyes wide with fear.

"Brace for impact!"

The battering ram slammed into the slaver ship with a sickening crunch of wood and metal, sending splinters flying and the vessel lurching violently.

Laenor was quick to rally his men. 

Helmed and armored, they were a burly, hardened lot, likely honed by years at sea and the grim realities of war. More of his men surged up from the depths of the ship, muscles corded from their labor at the oars, their faces grim with battle fury.

"Board them!" The man bellowed, his voice a thunderclap above the storm. "Cut down every slaver you find! We'll secure the captives and find the prince."

Jon nodded, drawing his sword. "I'm with you."

With a roar, they charged across the splintered wood, leaping onto the slaver ship as a volley of arrows rained down, thinning the enemy ranks.

The deck became a maelstrom of steel and blood. 

Laenor's men, well-trained and disciplined, fought with the ferocity of cornered wolves. The slavers, though outnumbered, were desperate and cunning.

"Douse the flames!" a slaver captain roared, his face blackened by smoke. "Get those sails down before the whole ship goes up!"

"Push them off!" another cried, straining against the Sea Dragon's ram. "Don't let them board!"

Jon found himself surrounded, three slavers pressing in on him. He parried a wild swing, then thrust forward, his blade finding its mark in a slaver's throat. Another lunged, but Jon sidestepped and drove his sword through the man's chest.

As he fought, he caught glimpses of Laenor, his movements swift and deadly, like a dancer amidst the chaos. But the slavers were relentless, and soon Jon was separated from his ally.

"Over here, you whoreson!" a slaver snarled, shoving a terrified villager in front of him, a young woman with tears streaming down her face. "Another step, and the girl dies!"

Jon's advance faltered. He was hemmed in, a wall of hardened flesh between him and the slaver's captive. 

The woman cowered before her captor, her terror palpable in the stormy air. 

Her dress was torn and soiled, revealing the pale skin of her chest, marred by a bloody gash across her left breast, as the lump of flesh hung loosely by the nipple. Dried blood stained between her legs.

"Don't be a fool," Jon said, his voice low and steady. "Your ship is lost. Surrender, and I promise you a swift death."

The slaver laughed, a harsh sound that grated against the roar of the sea. "Surrender? To the likes of you? My men will have your ship dislodged soon enough. And then, you'll be the one begging for mercy." 

Jon's eyes narrowed, taking in the scene. Behind the slaver, the main mast burned fiercely, the flames licking at the rigging. The wood groaned and creaked ominously, bending under the heat. 

Three more slavers circled warily, their Lyseni features etched in the flickering firelight. Thunder crackled overhead, a drumbeat to the impending doom.

The mast let out a deafening groan, bowing further. The slaver, his attention momentarily diverted, barked, "Miklaz, see to the mast!"

In that split second of distraction, the woman acted. With a desperate cry, she snatched a dirk from the slaver's belt and plunged it upwards, burying the blade in his jaw. His scream was cut short as he crumpled to the deck, blood gurgling from his mouth.

"You bitch!" one of the circling slavers roared, raising his sword.

Jon didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, his sword a blur of motion. The slaver to his right fell with a gurgle, his lifeblood staining the deck. Jon reached the woman, his arm wrapping around her waist as he pulled her behind him.

"Get down!" he yelled, his voice barely audible over the storm and the clash of steel.

The two remaining slavers attacked, their blades flashing. Jon parried one blow, then another, but they were relentless. A third slaver joined the fray, his eyes gleaming with malice.

"Die, you Targaryen dog!" he spat, swinging his axe with a mighty roar.

Jon barely managed to deflect the blow, stumbling back as the axe bit into the wood of the deck. He was open, vulnerable. He braced for the killing stroke, but it never came.

A figure materialized beside him, deflecting the axe with a clang of steel. It was Laenor Waters, his face a mask of fury as he drove the slaver back.

"You're outnumbered, you fools!" Laenor bellowed. "Throw down your weapons"

The remaining slavers exchanged glances, their resolve wavering. One of them dropped his sword with a clatter. The other hesitated, then followed suit.

Jon, catching his breath, turned to Laenor. "Thank you," he said, his voice gruff with gratitude.

Laenor nodded, his eyes scanning the deck. "We need to secure the rest of the captives. And find the prince."

The burning mast groaned one last time, a tortured shriek before it finally gave way. With a deafening crash, it toppled over the port side, its blazing sails trailing smoke as it plunged into the churning sea.

Jon turned to the men, his voice ringing out with authority. "Round up the slavers! Tie them and put them to the sword. No mercy for these scum."

The remaining slavers, faces pale with fear, fell to their knees. "Mercy, my lord!" one cried, his voice cracking. "The Wall! Send us to the Wall! We'll take the black and atone for our sins!"

Jon, who had moved to the woman's side, knelt beside her. He procured a strip of cloth from the burning sail of the ship, and gently bound her wounded breast, then draped his cloak over her shoulders to shield her shattered nakedness.

"Silence! We will not spare you to rape and pillage in the North," he said, his voice cold and hard. "You will face justice for your crimes."

The wall wasn't an option available to him anyway. The war with the damned Starks meant that the wall was effectively out of the question to send scum like these to spend the rest of their lives in misery.

The woman looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. "Thank you, my lord," she whispered. "You saved my life."

"Maester Gormon and Maester Gerard will tend to your wounds when we return to Dragonstone," Jon assured her. He signaled to one of his men, who gently lifted the woman and carried her to the safety of the Sea Dragon.

Jon turned to Laenor Waters, who was already directing his men in securing the deck and executing the slavers. "I'm ready to search below," Jon said.

Laenor nodded. "I've already sent men down to clear the lower decks. Any slavers hiding among the oarsmen and captives will be dealt with."

Jon's lips tightened in a grim line. "Good thinking. Let's find the prince."

They descended into the dimly lit lower deck with some of their men. 

The air was thick with the stench of stale sweat and fear. Bodies of slavers who had resisted capture lay scattered across the floorboards, their weapons clattering as Laenor's men secured the remaining prisoners.

The hold was a scene of utter misery. 

Women and children, most likely destined for the pleasure houses of Lys, were huddled together, their eyes wide with terror. 

Some bore the same marks of rape as the woman Jon had saved on deck, their torn clothes and skin bruised.

Jon and Laenor pushed through the crowd, their eyes searching. 

As they reached the aft section of the ship, they found a group of children huddled together in a corner. Among them, Jon spotted a silver-haired babe, barely a year old, clutched in the arms of a trembling woman.

He knelt beside her. "Is this child yours?" he asked gently.

The woman shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Nay, m'lord. They gave 'im to me to quiet 'im. They said a Valyrian babe fetches a higher price."

Jon examined the child. His silver hair and purple eyes marked him as Targaryen, as royal. 

It was Prince Aegon.

"Thank the gods," Jon breathed, a wave of relief washing over him. He looked at the woman, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for keeping him safe."

The woman sobbed, her shoulders shaking. "Thank ye, m'lord. Fer saving us."

Jon gently lifted the prince from the woman's arms, cradling him close. "Come, my men will take you to the Sea Dragon. Rest assured, you are safe."

The woman sobbed harder, "Thank ye, m'lord. Thank ye!"

He turned to Laenor, a relieved smile on his face. "I have him."

"Let's get him safe aboard the Sea Dragon then." The man said as he turned to his men.

"Get these people to the Sea Dragon!" He barked to his men, gesturing towards the huddled figures of the rescued slaves. "Every man, woman, and child. See them safely aboard."

Jon added his own commands, "Carefully, now! These people have suffered enough."

As they made their way back onto the main deck, the sight that greeted them was grim. The Barrow, once a proud vessel of the royal fleet, was now a floating inferno. Flames danced along its rigging, casting a hellish glow on the faces of the men still locked in bloody combat.

"Seven hells," Laenor swore, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Darry's ship is lost."

Jon's heart sank. "We have to help them," he said, his voice thick with desperation. "Can we get closer?"

Laenor shook his head grimly. "Not until the people are rescued and aboard the Sea Dragon. The storm is worsening, and the Barrow is too far gone."

A wave of despair washed over Jon.

There was still fighting on the slaver ship, but it was clear the tide had turned. 

Thunder cracked overhead, and the rain began to pour, a cold, relentless deluge that lashed at the decks and blurred the horizon.

"Faster!" Laenor urged his men, his voice raised above the tumult. "Get everyone aboard! We need to move!"

Jon watched as the slaver ship, its sails tattered and burning, slowly pulled away from the wreckage of the Barrow. 

It felt like a Pyrrhic victory.

"We have the prince, my lord," Laenor said, clapping a reassuring hand on Jon's shoulder. "And we took down four of their ships. That slaver vessel won't last long in this storm. They're as good as lost."

Jon nodded, a flicker of hope kindling in his eyes. Laenor was right. 

The slavers had paid a heavy price for their crimes, and their remaining ship was unlikely to survive the fury of the Narrow Sea.

"May the sea grant them a swift end," Jon murmured, a prayer whispered into the wind. For the sake of the innocent souls aboard that doomed vessel, he hoped their suffering would soon be over.

Once the rescued souls were safe aboard the Sea Dragon, Laenor Waters gave the order to rally and make for the Swiftwing. Omer Blackberry's ship had fared the best in the battle and had successfully boarded and rescued the captives from the three smaller slaver vessels.

Within a day, they returned to Dragonstone. The fires at the fishing village had been extinguished, but the charred ruins still smoldered, a grim reminder of the attack. Men patrolled the port, their faces hardened against the driving rain.

As they disembarked, they were met by the castellan, Ser Harrold Thorne. The man's relief at seeing Prince Aegon safe in Jon's arms was evident, but it quickly faded. "My lord," he said, his voice heavy, "I wish I had better news."

Jon's heart clenched. "What is it?"

"The queen... she is weakened. The Maesters did all they could, but... her previous losses took their toll. She gave birth to a daughter, Princess Daenerys, but..." Ser Harrold swallowed, his voice choked with emotion. "The maesters say she won't last the night."

Despair washed over Jon. 

The queen was dying. 

Dragonstone was no longer safe. He had to protect the remaining children, fulfill the king's orders, and secure the island against further raids of the like.

He turned to Laenor Waters, the man who had saved his life. "The king ordered me to bring Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys to King's Landing," Jon explained. "As hostages against Dorne. But Dragonstone is vulnerable now. The slavers... and the Starks... they both want the children."

Laenor stilled. "The Starks, my Lord?"

Jon nodded. "The Spider has informed me that have sent an agent seeking to kidnap Prince Rhaegar's children. I cannot risk their safety here."

Laenor was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the stormy sea. 

Then, he looked at Jon, his gaze unwavering. "I will not betray my family, Lord Connington."

Jon's heart swelled with gratitude. "Thank you, Laenor."

Within the hour, Laenor Waters set sail for King's Landing, the small figures of Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys huddled on deck, their futures uncertain as the storm raged around them.

It would be a week when he realized that Laenor's family meant his wife, who had been hostage in the North, and Jon Connington failed his duty yet again as he lost Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys to the Starks.

x ------ x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x

The salt stung Caelum's chapped lips, a lingering reminder of the endless tears shed throughout the night. 

His small room at the Learned Anchor, usually a haven of warmth and familiarity, now felt like a prison cell. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the bed linens, echoed with the phantom sound of Ser Elmar's agonized screams.

He had bolted the door as soon as he'd stumbled back to the inn, his hands shaking so violently he nearly splintered the wood. 

Sometime during the night he vaguely remembered muffled voices beyond the door—Pylos, Fern, and Liernen, likely having returned from the Starry Sept and come to check on him. But he couldn't face them, not with the weight of his actions crushing his soul.

As dawn painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, Caelum's tears finally ran dry, leaving behind only a hollow ache in his chest. 

He sat hunched on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on the Valyrian steel mask lying discarded on the floor. It seemed to mock him, a grotesque symbol of his monstrous power.

A sharp rap on the door jolted him from his bleak reverie. 

He didn't move, his body frozen in place. The knock came again, more insistent this time.

"Caelum," a familiar voice boomed through the wood, the unmistakable tone of Maester Marwyn. "I know you're in there. Open this door, or I shall be forced to break it down."

Caelum flinched. 

He knew the archmaester wasn't bluffing. With a sigh of resignation, he rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate. He reached for the door handle, his fingers trembling as they curled around the cool metal. 

With the utmost care, he lifted the latch, the door creaking open just enough to reveal Marwyn's imposing figure.

Marwyn wasted no time, his bulk pushing past Caelum into the cramped room. He moved with surprising agility for a man nursing a broken rib, his eyes scanning the disheveled space before settling on Caelum's pale face.

"What happened?" he demanded, his voice gruff but laced with an undercurrent of concern.

Caelum swallowed, his throat thick with emotion. "Is... is Ser Elmar alright?" he asked instead.

Marwyn's lips tightened. "He'll live," he said, "thanks to Archmaester Theron's swift intervention. But the man is... troubled. Raving about demons from the Seven Hells."

A shiver ran down Caelum's spine. "He is speaking of me."

Marwyn nodded grimly. "He claims a fiery creature emerged from the blaze and tore his arm off. The guards are calling it a demon attack, a sign of the Seven's wrath. The Seneschal doesn't much believe them, but there is evidence aplenty there for mystical sorcery." His eyes narrowed. "Tell me, boy, what truly happened at that manse?"

Caelum looked away, unable to meet the archmaester's gaze. 

He recounted the events of the previous night, his voice halting and choked with emotion. He spoke of the chaos, melting the doors to the manse, and freezing them with his breath, setting the stable on fire, the fear shown by the stable boy he had accidentally trapped inside, and the horror of what he had done to Ser Elmar.

When he finished, silence hung heavy in the room. Marwyn stood motionless, his face a mask of contemplation.

After a long moment, Marwyn released a heavy sigh. "You should be glad to know, then, that Qyburn's trial at the seneschal's court is set for two days hence."

The news did little to lift the gloom that had settled over Caelum. "I should turn myself in," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "I... I hurt him. Crippled him." The images of Ser Elmar's twisted arm and the stable boy's terrified eyes flashed before his mind's eye, a gruesome slideshow of his own failures.

Marwyn scoffed, "Don't be a fool, boy. You saved the stable hand, didn't you? As for the knight, it was a mistake, an unfortunate accident. You mustn't punish yourself needlessly for such things."

"But I almost got him killed," Caelum protested, his voice rising in pitch. "I... I'm a danger to everyone around me. I'm a monster."

"Yes, you did," Marwyn agreed, his voice surprisingly gentle. "But mistakes happen, Caelum. And Ser Elmar survived. He will live to see another day."

"But he won't be a knight anymore," Caelum lamented, his voice thick with despair. "Not without his arm."

"Nonsense," Marwyn countered. "He'll likely remain a knight, perhaps even garner more attention from Lord Baelor Hightower for his sacrifice. And he lost his left arm, boy. He can still wield a sword with his right."

Caelum remained unconvinced, his guilt gnawing at him like a ravenous beast. "But I..."

Marwyn cut him off with a raised hand. "Enough of this self-pity, boy. What's done is done. Put it out of your mind and focus on what you can control. Focus on becoming better, on mastering your gifts." He paused, his eyes boring into Caelum's. "You have a rare opportunity here, Caelum. You can use your abilities to do great things, to help people. But first, you must learn to harness your power, to wield it with precision and control."

Caelum nodded slowly, guilt still staining his soul. "Will you help me?" he asked. "I... I don't think I know how to do this on my own."

He desperately missed Luke and Meredith. They would know exactly what to do.

"Of course," Marwyn replied, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "We can begin immediately, if you wish. There is no time like the present to face one's demons."

Caelum nodded, his throat too tight for words. Sleep was a dream for a guiltless mind, a luxury he couldn't afford until he had a semblance of control over his destructive abilities.

That took priority.

Marwyn moved swiftly, plucking the Valyrian steel mask from the floor where Caelum had discarded it. "I shall have this melted down," he said, turning the intricate object over in his hands. "Best not to have it recognized by anyone who may have spotted you."

"I'm sorry," Caelum winced.

Marwyn waved a dismissive hand. "Think nothing of it, boy. I never cared much for the mask anyway. Valyrian steel is wasted on such a thing anyway. There are far better uses for Valyrian Steel. I now have the opportunity to make better use of it."

He led Caelum out of the room and down the narrow stairs of the inn. In the common room below, Fern, and Liernen sat huddled around a table, as they ate their morning meal.

Liernen was working the counter, attending to the incoming stream of the morning patrons.

Fern's eyes widened as she saw Caelum, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a worried frown. "Caelum," she said, her voice soft and hesitant. "Are you alright? You look dreadful."

Pylos nodded in agreement, his gaze darting between Caelum and Marwyn. "You left the Sept in a hurry last night," he said. "Did you sleep at all?"

Caelum forced a weak smile, careful not to touch anything as he leaned against the wall. "I'll be fine," he reassured them, his voice raspy from lack of sleep. "Just a bit... under the weather."

Marwyn stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Caelum's shoulder. The touch was light, barely there, but Caelum still flinched involuntarily. "I shall take care of the boy," Marwyn assured them, his voice calm. "He will be in good hands."

He turned to Liernen, who was busy wiping down the counter with a damp cloth. "I apologize for the inconvenience, good man," Marwyn said, producing a few silver coins from his pouch. "Caelum will be staying with me for the time being. This should cover his absence."

Liernen paused, his eyes flicking between the coins and Caelum's pale face. "There's no need for that, Archmaester," he said, a hint of concern in his voice. "Just take care of him. That's all that matters."

Marwyn smiled, a faint upturn of his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course," he said, placing the coins on the counter nonetheless. "You have my word."

Caelum stepped outside, the cool morning air a welcome relief against his feverish skin. 

As he reached the archmaester's cart, he heard Fern's voice behind him, she had followed them outside. "Archmaester Marwyn," she called out, her tone hesitant. "May I have a word?"

Marwyn paused, glancing back at Caelum before nodding curtly, telling him to wait for him by the cart. "Of course, child."

He resisted the urge to use his hearing, to listen in on the conversation unfolding behind him. 

He knew what Fern was likely discussing with Marwyn, and the thought filled him with a bittersweet guilt. But he was strangely alright with the decision. Marwyn would teach her more than the citadel could in time. 

She wouldn't have been able to take the Acolytes vows just like him, on account of being a girl. Someone was bound to find out eventually, Marwyn could shield her from that.

He leaned against the rough stone wall of the inn, his eyes closed as he took in the sounds of the bustling city. 

The fire atop Hightower looked magnificent under the morning sun.

Marwyn returned a few moments later, a small smile playing on his lips, his red sharp teeth glittered beneath his lips, stained by chewing sourleaf. 

He approached Caelum, gently lifting him into the cart. Caelum flinched at the contact, but Marwyn's touch was gentle, almost hesitant.

With a flick of the reins, the cart rumbled into motion, leaving the Learned Anchor and the bustling heart of Oldtown behind. As they journeyed towards the city's outskirts, Marwyn's voice broke the silence.

"I expect there will be rumors swirling through Oldtown soon, boy. Tales of demons and fiery apparitions."

Caelum's stomach churned. "I know," he replied, guilt gnawing at him once more.

Marwyn chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Don't fret, Caelum. The Citadel will see to it that those rumors are quelled. We've already laid the groundwork, attributing the blame to Qyburn's... unorthodox experiments. Magic is a sword without a hilt, as they say, and the Seneschal is already convinced that Qyburn was meddling with forces he shouldn't have."

Caelum nodded, but the reassurance did little to ease his troubled conscience. "Qyburn deserved it," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "He's evil. But... I still feel responsible for what happened."

Marwyn shook his head, his voice firm. "You succeeded in putting a stop to Qyburn's cruel experiments. The people he held captive will be transferred to the cells beneath the Hightower. As they were criminals, they will be judged by their crimes, regardless. Though most of the lesser criminals like the pickpockets will be let go. On account of having suffered enough." 

He paused, his voice softening slightly. "The murderers and rapists in the lot will face the executioner's block. All in all, you did good work, Caelum. You may have made mistakes, but you succeeded in what you set out to do."

He reached out a gloved hand and placed it gently on Caelum's shoulder. "Don't lose sight of that, boy. You have the potential for great things, but you must learn to control your power."

"May I visit him?" Caelum asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Ser Elmar, I mean. I... I want to apologize." He knew he couldn't reveal his true identity, but perhaps even an anonymous expression of remorse would bring him some peace.

Marwyn paused, his hand tightening slightly on the reins of the cart. "It would be unwise," he said after a moment of contemplation. "The knight is in a fragile state, blaming his misfortune on a demon. Let that sink in, in time the truth will be a distant memory, and the people will build their own lies to give reason to last night in their own way." He offered a small, sympathetic smile. "Perhaps in time, when the wounds have healed. Until then stay away. For now, it's best to let him rest."

Caelum nodded, accepting the wisdom in Marwyn's words. 

The guilt still churned within him. Perhaps one day he could make amends, find a way to atone for the pain he had caused.

As the cart rattled along the cobblestone streets, leaving the towering walls of Oldtown behind, 

"What about Qyburn?" Caelum asked, his voice tinged with apprehension. "What punishment will he face?"

Marwyn's expression darkened. "Qyburn was, and still is, under Baelor's protection," he said with a sigh. "So, I doubt there will be any imprisonment."

Caelum's heart sank. "But... his experiments..."

"At the very least," Marwyn continued, "Qyburn will no longer be a maester. He will be stripped of his chain and denied the resources of the Citadel to continue his research. Exile from Oldtown is a likely outcome. Both the Seneschal and the most devout of the Starry Sept will pressure Baelor to accomplish at least that much. Especially after all the blame for last night's sorcery will fall on the man's head."

Caelum nodded, a wave of conflicting emotions washing over him. 

He didn't know whether Qyburn's punishment was just, he didn't think so. The guilt of his own actions remained a heavy burden.

He hoped being unable to use the resources of the citadel, Qyburn won't be able to carry out his experiments any further.

The cart eventually reached a secluded clearing a few miles from the city. The sun was high in the sky now, casting long shadows through the dappled leaves of the surrounding trees. 

"We've arrived," Marwyn announced, his voice cutting through Caelum's troubled thoughts. "Far enough from the city, the Roseroad, and the Honeywine to ensure we're undisturbed by anyone. Travelers, guards and bandits alike."

Caelum nodded, his gaze sweeping over the secluded clearing. 

Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy of leaves, casting dancing patterns on the forest floor.

A sense of unease lingered in the pit of his stomach, but a spark of determination flickered to life as well. He needed to master his powers, for the sake of others and himself.

He clambered out of the cart, his movements still cautious and deliberate. 

Marwyn led the way deeper into the woods, stopping at a spot sheltered by a cluster of ancient oaks. 

With practiced efficiency, he unloaded supplies from the cart, setting up a makeshift camp.

Once the camp was established, Marwyn turned to Caelum, his eyes sharp and focused. "To help you gain control, we must first understand the extent of your strength," he said. "Show me what you can do."

Caelum nodded, his gaze swept across the clearing, searching for a suitable target. His eyes settled on a massive oak tree, its trunk thick and gnarled with age. He approached the tree, his heart pounding in his chest. 

He drew back his fist, his muscles coiling with barely restrained strength.

With a guttural cry, he unleashed a thunderous punch, his knuckles connecting with the oak's rough bark. 

The sound of splintering wood filled the air as a shockwave rippled through the tree. It shattered, its trunk splitting open like a ripe melon, and the force of the blow sent several neighboring trees toppling one after the other behind them.

Caelum stared in awe at the devastation he had wrought. 

A cold dread settled over him as he realized the sheer magnitude of his power.

Marwyn's eyes widened as he surveyed the scene, his weathered face a mask of awe and disbelief. "By the Gods..." he breathed, "your strength... it's extraordinary." He shook his head, the awe not leaving his face. "I must confess, I was somewhat skeptical when you recounted the events of last night. Seeing those broken stone walls at the manse certainly gave me pause, but this..." He gestured towards the fallen trees, his voice trailing off in astonishment.

A flicker of worry crossed Marwyn's face. "This is but a fraction of your full potential, I imagine," he mused. "One can only wonder how much further your strength will grow as you age." He paused, his gaze returning to Caelum. "But this was merely striking strength. I'd like to see other manifestations of your power."

Caelum, feeling a mix of worry and apprehension, nodded slowly. 

He approached one of the toppled trees, its massive trunk lying prone on the forest floor. He knelt beside it, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the bark. 

With surprising ease, he lifted the entire tree, roots and all, hoisting it above his head as if it were a mere twig.

Marwyn watched intently, a calculating gleam in his eyes. "Impressive," he said. "Now, drop it. And then, grasp a thick branch—but only grasp it, do not attempt to lift."

Caelum lowered the tree back to the ground, the impact sending tremors through the earth. He then selected a sturdy branch, its thickness as wide as his wrist. 

He wrapped his fingers around it, careful not to exert any pressure. 

But even the slightest touch proved too much. The branch snapped with a sharp crack, the severed ends tumbling to the ground.

Marwyn nodded thoughtfully, stroking his chin as he observed the splintered branch. "I believe I understand the issue," he said, a hint of a plan forming in his eyes. "This will take time, Caelum. A great deal of time. And the best method to learn anything is through practice."

Caelum braced himself, anticipating a tedious series of exercises and drills. He was determined to regain control, no matter the cost.

Marwyn's next words, however, caught him off guard. "Your first task is to gather all the fallen trees in this clearing," he instructed. "Strip them of their branches and leaves, carefully, mind you. Then, you will use the wood to build a shelter for our stay here."

Caelum stared at him, incredulous. "How am I supposed to do that?! I can barely handle one branch with care!" he sputtered. "... that could take ages!"

Marwyn arched an eyebrow. "Indeed," he replied with a sardonic smile. "What did you expect, boy? Did you think I had a magical solution to your strength? Control comes with patience, discipline, and a great deal of hard work. Now, get to it."

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(A/N) I am back! Exams are done! Hope that was worth the long wait!

Naval battles are hard. Anyway, Princess Elia is dead. The Kidnapping is successful. And Ned Stark wasn't even spotted, lol. He was one of the helmed guards under Laenor Waters.

Why would the Spider not inform them of the entire plan, I wonder.

As for Caelum. Superman, whenever he accidentally hurt an innocent person, has always ventured to turn himself into the authorities. Most often that's batman, lol. Or the military, so Lois Lane's dad. 

Marwyn put a stop to that. More character growth.